Chapter Sixteen
Teague
“You look like you have a stick up that fine ass of yours.”
That might be less painful.
“I know,” I say, trying to make a decaf vanilla latte without looking like I want to crawl into a hole and die. Even my arms hurt. What the heck is up with that?
I woke up yesterday morning moderately sore from all the running around I did on the soccer field with Mateo. But today it’s a million times worse. My legs are so sore I can barely lift my feet to walk. Which is why I’m shuffling around like a weirdo. And my shoulders and upper back feel like I did a thousand push-ups. I obviously used them more than I thought while trying to outdo him.
“Also? You smell like an old lady.”
“That’s your fault,” I tell Harper, hoping no one else can smell the pain relieving cream I rubbed on the back of my neck. It hurts there, too. God, I feel like an old lady. “You told me it would help.”
“Yes, but I meant later, in the privacy of your own room. And I think I mentioned to use it sparingly, not slather it on like sunscreen.”
That second part she did say, but I went with the more is better formula in hopes it would work quicker. I finish making the latte and hand it over to one of our regulars. “Here you go, Susan. Have a great day.”
“Thanks, Teague. By the way, something smells funny, so you may want to look into it.”
Harper puts her chin on my shoulder and looks at Susan. “I’m on it.”
Susan smiles in good-bye and I turn to Harper. “Literally on it,” she says. And then we both crack up. The giggles continue—which hurts my aching muscles but I can’t stop—until 7:59.
“Okay everybody,” Harper calls out. “It’s time to…”
“Know the Score!” our customers shout back.
Harp flips on the radio. The room goes quiet while we wait to listen to Bennett make our Monday mornings worth waking up for. I’m not sure he’ll be able to make me feel better about getting up today when my body won’t stop reminding me I’m not a soccer player, but at least he’ll take my mind off Mateo.
And that girl.
I left the fund-raiser Saturday feeling more than a little confused. I’d been a stupid mess all week, thinking about him. After what happened between us in the hammock, I thought he’d follow up with at least a flirty text, but all I got was silence. When I ran into him at the fund-raiser, I wanted to be mad, but when I realized he was busy with the event all week and not ignoring me, I was ridiculously happy about seeing him again.
So after having the best time ever playing soccer, eating, and getting to know each other even better, I thought we’d spend Saturday night together, too. Instead, he had a date with someone else. Disappointed and a little brokenhearted, I took off before he could see how much that bothered me.
It’s the stupidest thing in the world to fall for him, but it feels completely out of my control. Which is bad. He’s not going to fall back. Made obvious by his plans with a pretty coworker.
What I need to do is forget he ever came into my life.
Bennett’s sexy voice helps me forget what’s-his-name, and when he mentions wearing a college baseball hat, I smile. I do that all the time, which means I’m bound to meet another Ducks fan, right? There are a ton of guys out there, and I’ll find one on my same playing field.
Before I leave the coffee shop for my other job, I get a text from Gabrielle. Why do I have a $350 spa bill from The Four Seasons? it reads.
Because I made the executive decision to send your BTB with hives to a spa for the day so she could relieve some stress, and you’re welcome because it worked. I shoot back a text saying as much, only without the sarcasm.
Twenty minutes later, clothes changed, coffee drinks in hand, I quickly stop at Briggs’s desk. “Hi,” I say, and hand him a brown bag with a lemon-blueberry muffin and an envelope.
“Morning. What’s all this?”
“Sustenance and a thank-you.”
“TW, you’ve got this backward.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been sitting at this desk for five years and I’ve never enjoyed it more than I have the last few weeks. So thank you.”
“Well, you went above and beyond last week, and I really appreciated it.”
He waves a hand. “That was nothing.”
“It was something.” Gabrielle had been firing off text after text of annoyances, so many in fact, that I skipped two morning shifts at the coffee shop to get here early. Briggs saved me from having a meltdown with a pep talk and some good advice. “How was your weekend?”
“Very nice. Yours?”
“Good and bad.” I take a step backward at his frown. I don’t have time to elaborate. “I gotta run. Don’t want to be late for Ms. Gallagher this morning.”
“She gives you any trouble, remember what I told you.”
“When you’re the best, you get pushed the hardest.”
Briggs smiles, and when he does, he looks exactly like Denzel Washington. “You feeling okay? You’re walking funny.”
“Too much exercise this weekend and I’m sore, that’s all.”
Inside the elevator, I press 3 and for the first time ever wish for a mechanical malfunction. If the elevator were to stop working for say, an hour or so, I could sit down in the dark and use the silence to get my jumbled thoughts in order. It’s going to be hard to concentrate on work with Mateo sitting in the back of my mind more than usual.
The elevator fairies don’t hear my silent plea, and the doors gracefully open on my floor. I enter the office, put my purse down, grab Gabrielle’s drink, and walk with shoulders back to deliver it. Five minutes early.
“Good morning. Welcome back.”
She eyes me from feet to face. I’m wearing a black tailored pencil skirt, a striped blazer over a pink camisole, and pointy-toe pumps. I wanted to dress to impress today, even if my muscles are rioting against such a thing. I place her coffee on her desk and take a seat across from her, trying not to wince at the pain in my thighs and butt.
“Thank you.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard those two words, but it is one of the few times she sounds genuinely grateful.
“How was your trip?”
“Wonderful.” She lifts her cup toward her mouth. She’s got an afterglow about her, like the trip was everything she’d hoped and she’s still feeling the effects.
“Did you love the Eiffel Tower? I’m dying to see it one day.”
“It’s spectacular. My husband surprised me with a romantic dinner there one night.”
“And I bet you enjoyed shopping along the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.”
“Oui. I came home with so many gifts.” She sighs contentedly. “It was nice to get out of town and be reminded how much I enjoy being with my husband away from everything.”
I inwardly sigh. Twenty-five years of marriage is a milestone I hope to reach one day. “Did you visit the Louvre and the Panthéon and the Notre Dame cathedral?” I ask excitedly, wanting to live vicariously through her.
“We did everything.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her dark eyes on me with interest, maybe? “It sounds like you’re a fan of France. And travel.”
“I am,” is all I say, not sure she’d appreciate my deepest professional dreams.
She gives a small nod. “Mindy and Leah told me you handled things well while I was gone. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say with a smile. This is the longest personal conversation we’ve ever had.
Our friendliness quickly vanishes, though, when Gabrielle goes back to being her lovely boss self with, “Now tell me why we hired a photographer with an expired visa. You’re responsible for background…”
For the rest of the morning she’s on me about one thing or another. I forget all about her scorn, though, during a phone conversation with one of our brides about her honeymoon. I’ve been doing a lot of online research on the subject, and when talk somehow veers away from florists to honeymoon destinations, I’m happy to chat nonstop.
“Bora Bora is tiny,” I say. “It’s only six miles long, so it definitely fits your criteria for going somewhere tropical and sheltered.
“Tahiti is romantic and off the beaten path, too, but more populated if you want to feel less hidden away. Both have gorgeous beaches.”
“What do you think about Costa Rica?”
I want to visit there, too, is what I think. “There is a lot to do there along with the unspoiled beaches and rain forests and—” The suite door opens and Madison and her mom step into the office. They aren’t scheduled for an appointment that I know of, but they are Gabrielle’s most important client—and friends—so I need to see to them. “I’m sorry,” I say into the phone, “could we talk more this afternoon? A client just stepped into the office…thank you…yes I will…bye.”
“Hi!” I say just as Gabrielle strolls out of her office. She exchanges hugs and kisses on the cheek with both women.
“Join us,” Gabrielle says to me, very businesslike.
Madison waits for me to come around my desk. “What’s going on?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”
“I should be asking you that. Are you limping?”
I wave away her concern. “It’s nothing.” Nothing a soak in the Jacuzzi and a few pain relievers can’t fix later. I hope.
“My control-freak mom needs Gaby’s help to fix Henry’s problem this weekend.” Madison’s voice is strained, like this weekend isn’t a pleasant thought for her.
The bachelor party. That must be what this is about. It makes sense, since Madison mentioned her bachelorette party was over the Memorial Day holiday and that’s this weekend. Her bridesmaids are taking her to Napa for wine tasting and pampering.
We sit in plush chairs at the round glass conference table near the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the heart of Beverly Hills.
“Since we had to let go of the cook-slash-housekeeper Henry’s best man hired for this weekend,” Mrs. Hastings is saying, “do you think you can find someone to replace her? The house is costing a fortune to rent and those boys will definitely make a mess of things if there’s no one”—she glances at Madison—“prudent and respectable there to keep them in line. You know how responsible I feel about all the wedding activities, since Henry’s mom isn’t here.”
Gabrielle gives Mrs. Hastings’s hand a squeeze. “I do know. And of course I’ll find you someone. Miss Watters will make a few phone calls.” She looks at me. “Don’t be long.”
I nod and hurry—butternuts that hurt—back to my desk. I search the Rolodex and come up with a house sitter, a couple of private chefs, and Mary Poppins. MP is Gabrielle’s nickname for Betsy Ruth. Betsy cared for Mateo and Isabel when they were young. She helps Gabrielle now when clients need short-term help with domestic duties during wedding weeks.
Unfortunately, none of our contacts can help on such short notice.
Both Mrs. Hastings and Madison are visibly upset when I report this news.
“No worries,” Gabrielle says. “Teague will do it.”
Say what? “I will?”
“Yes. You know how to cook, right?” She levels me with a look that says I’d better reply yes regardless of my skills in the kitchen. Ah. This is about easing their minds, not actually keeping a group of twentysomething-year-old guys in line, because I’m pretty sure they’d find that hysterical.
“Yes.”
“And clean?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all settled, then. You’ll stay in the maid’s quarters at the house for the weekend.”
Whoa. I have to sleep there, too?
Madison bounces in her seat. “This is great, actually.” She turns to me. “I’m really glad you’ll be there to keep an eye on Hen—things.”
I look into her eyes and see gratitude along with the worry I heard in her voice earlier. “Why don’t we go talk back at my desk, and you can fill me in on what I need to know?” I’m trying not to wig out at the idea of staying with a bunch of guys who will no doubt be drunk most of the time. No one has properly thought this idea through.
Madison sits in the extra chair I push over to my desk. “Thank you for doing this, Teague. I know it’s not in your job description.”
Ha! There’s a ton of things I do that are not on that approved list, but I like a challenge. And I realized last week, no matter what Gabrielle throws at me, I can do it with a few deep breaths, focus, and determination. I don’t fail at things and don’t plan to start now.
“I’m happy to do this for you.” I truly am. “But I feel like there’s something else going on.”
Her gaze flits around the room before she takes a quick breath and lets out a sigh. “I think…I’m not sure Henry is…” She swallows. “Henry’s friends can be pretty wild, and having you there will alleviate some of my concerns.”
“Like stripper concerns?”
She nods. “And you should probably know…”
“What?” I softly prompt.
“I’m the one who fired the cook-slash-housekeeper for this weekend. She looked like Kate Beckinsale.”
This makes a little more sense now. Madison put the nixsay on the hot chefsay because she doesn’t trust Henry to keep it in his pants.
I pat her arm. “Don’t worry about a thing. You have a great time in Napa doing all the bride-to-be things, and I’ll be here to make sure everything is okay. I’ve got your back.” I’m proud of myself for saying all that convincingly when I don’t feel it. I’m no match for a bunch of rowdy guys. Which means I’ll have to bring Harp with me.
“Thank you. I should also tell you about the group that will be there.”
I’m cool with what she shares until I hear the name “Mateo.”
I’d forgotten he was in the wedding party. He’s going to be at the beach house in Malibu. I’m going to be under the same roof as him for an entire weekend. How am I going to do that?
It’s not too late to back out. Remember I’m having my appendix removed or something important like that. But I can’t let Madison down. She looks visibly relieved that someone she trusts will be keeping an eye on her fiancé. That she doesn’t trust Henry makes me wonder why she’s marrying him. I know what it feels like to be cheated on, and it’s horrible. It makes my skin crawl to think Madison is living with doubts. Marriage is about love, faith, and believing the other person will never let you down. It’s about finding your soul mate and not settling for anything less than a man of honor.
I want to reassure her, so I will do this and keep any stupid feelings for Mateo under lock and key.
Probably.
But when Mateo texts me a little while later with, Dinner tonight? You owe me one for the kitten card, the way the invitation unfurls inside me like a warm tropical breeze tells me I’m in trouble.
I might still be upset about the other girl on Saturday, and I’ve sworn over and over again to keep my distance because his mom is my boss, but apparently those things don’t matter, because my immediate inclination is to say yes.
I have zero desire to say no when it comes to Mateo.